


Gremlins

by relic_amaranth



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Bucky’s shirts keep going missing. It isn’t a problem, per se. But it isannoying.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 260





	Gremlins

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Reader gender is undefined but ‘sweetheart’ is used as pet name
> 
> A/N: Just a sweet little something. Please enjoy.

Bucky’s shirts keep going missing.

Maybe he’s just being forgetful; it’s bound to happen when you’ve had your brains scrambled for the span of the average person’s lifetime. Honestly, he considers it a miracle he’s as well-adjusted as he is. Misplacing a few shirts? He knows one in particular was pretty well-worn; he probably wrecked them bad enough that he had to throw them out. He can do that now– throw things out.

(Within reason, of course; he’s not _wasteful_.)

“Hi Bucky.” You wrap your arms around his middle and he lets his eyes fall shut for a few blissful moments as you snuggle into his back. Warm coffee in hand and one of his partners holding him close– if Steve wasn’t such a hyperactive _jerk_ Bucky would be having the best morning ever.

But Bucky smiles as he takes a long drink, because he can’t begrudge Steve that. Steve spent most of his life with a body that couldn’t, and now that he can, he’s taking it for all he’s worth. Bucky can, sort of, kind of, relate now.

Though mostly _after_ six a.m.

“When are you going to meet Steve?”

Bucky checks his watch. “I’m gonna head out as soon as I finish my coffee.”

“Good. Wear him _out_ , will ya?”

Bucky chuckles into his mug. Yeah, four a.m. wake-ups are justified by nothing. He downs the last dregs, slides his cup onto the counter, and turns around to pick you up. You yelp and swat at him and he laughs and nuzzles you and– he lingers, for a little bit, because you smell a little like _him_. And Steve; but mostly him.

It’s starting to do things that will make it impossible for him to leave the house if he stays any longer, so he gives you a kiss and lets you down. “You wanna come with, sweetheart?” Bucky teases, already knowing the answer.

Sure enough you look down at your pajama-clad body and then give him a look like he’s lucky he’s cute. “Absolutely… _not_.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, mostly because it makes you laugh, and then he grabs his gym bag and heads out to meet Steve at the Tower. On his way he makes a memo in his phone to buy a few extra shirts, and with that, the main problem of his life is as good as solved.

For about a week. And then he is, again, staring into a closet that _has clothes_ just _not the ones he’s looking for_.

“Hey Buck.” Steve sidles up next to him and kisses his cheek. “What’re you lookin’ for?”

“A shirt,” Bucky says, still staring. Unfortunately, the clothing item in question does not materialize.

“Well you’ve got plenty to choose from.”

“One shirt in particular.” Bucky shoots Steve a glare. “Smartass.”

Steve chuckles and peers into the closet. “Which one?”

“That dark blue one with the black buttons?”

“Oh, you look good in that one,” Steve says, tone changing appreciatively.

“Damn right,” Bucky says. “And it’s comfortable. And it’s _gone_.”

“I’m sure it’s somewhere.” Steve says your name with an inquisitive tilt.

“Hasn’t seen it,” Bucky grunts and continues to stare ahead. He knows he’s getting too fixated on this but he just can’t help it. Where are these things going? “We got fucking gremlins or something.”

“And those gremlins need your clothes?”

Bucky scowls at Steve. Steve grins and gently shuts the door, then moves in to lean his back against it. “It’ll turn up eventually,” he says. His face tilts to the side as he tries on a smirk, like he still isn’t quite sure how to consciously make the shift from the awkward ugly duckling he thinks he used to be, to the rightfully cocky bastard Bucky knows he really is inside. “In the meantime– want to do something that requires no clothes at all?”

Bucky thinks that you might have a point when you say that it’s a good thing Steve doesn’t really know how to properly wield his true power. However, Bucky has always been an easy mark for Steve– and sometimes that’s not so bad.

This is a _new_ shirt.

Bucky _really likes it_.

It, too, is gone.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Bucky says and flings the not-favorite shirt across the room. It lands with a ‘thud!’

And an “Mm!”

He whips his head around and sees you peeling the shirt off your face. You give it a once-over and then turn a wry smile at him. “At least it’s clean.”

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he says and gets up.

You hand it back and look over the small piles of clothing scattered across the bedroom floor. “What’s going on? Is that shirt still missing?”

“ _Four_ shirts,” Bucky grumps and flings the one he’s holding down to the floor. He rests his forehead on your shoulder and sighs. “I don’t know what the hell I did with them.”

He expects comfort, but the way your body tenses is…confusing. At first he thinks he’s heavy or has somehow made you physically uncomfortable, but before he can pull away you rub his shoulders and absolutely every aspect of that motion feels awkward.

And when you say, “I’m sure they’ll turn up eventually,” he _knows_ you’re hiding something. He just doesn’t know what.

Or why.

He still can’t figure it out, days later, when two of his shirts are returned to his closet like they had never left. Their homecoming might have even been missed, had Bucky not quickly made up a closet system known only to him. And here they are, freshly laundered, pressed, hanging nicely, nothing in the seams or– not that he ever thinks you _would_ , but he just can’t fathom _what_ you’ve been doing with them. You haven’t been wearing them, he would have noticed right away and he would not have been up a wall wondering where they were.

There are still two missing, but at least now he’s fairly certain he knows where they are. Or at least, who has them. He could confront you about it, but you might clam up and refuse to ever tell him why. The easiest way to go about this is to find them before you can put them back.

Unfortunately he doesn’t get a chance to think of a plan– he and Steve get a call to head out in an hour and an otherwise quiet afternoon turns into a flurry of activity as Steve and Bucky get debriefed and then rush to pack. You, ostensibly, are trying to help, but you end up mostly getting in the way.

“Hey,” Bucky says and pulls you aside so that Steve can finish checking the bags. “Me and Stevie’ve got this; we’ll be in and out and back in no time.”

“Mm hm,” you say, obviously still distressed, but you wrap your arms around him tightly, bury your face in his shoulder, and breathe in deeply.

Steve comes over and wraps his arms around you both. “I promise, it’s gonna be fine.” You turn your head to nuzzle Steve’s chest, then put one arm around him and grip him just as tight.

Bucky and Steve stay with you for several moments until the incessant buzzing of their phones annoy even you, and you see them out the door. Bucky spends the drive out to the plane getting his head right so he and Steve can come home safe and keep their promise to you.

It’s a few days later and past midnight when Bucky gets home. Steve has more to do but has sent Bucky ahead, hoping the early arrival will help ease your nerves.

The house is quiet and dark and Bucky moves through it easily, checking entry points on his way up. When he makes it to the bedroom doorway he stops and takes in the sight of you, sleeping soundly. His body relaxes in ways he hadn’t even known he was tense, and he shucks his clothes until he gets to his underwear, and then crawls into bed.

You stir and he’s quick to grab your hand and whisper reassuring nothings to you. The sheets are pretty rumpled, like you’ve been having a rough night, though when your eyes open you’re not panicked.

“Bucky,” you whisper with a smile and hug him. “Steve?”

“He’s just fine,” Bucky says and kisses you. The feel of your skin is so grounding he nuzzles closer.

“Bucky,” you laugh and arch your neck. Bucky takes the opening and digs his face in between you and fabric that…does not feel like the sheets. He brings his face back and pulls at the mystery cloth.

It’s one of Steve’s shirts.

“Uh oh,” you say under your breath and move your hand to cover that part of the bed. Bucky slips his hand under yours and brings out _another_ shirt from under you.

_His_ shirt. Wrinkled and creased but clean. He stares at you, wondering. You stare at something across the room. He moves in between you and that fixed point and continues to stare at you, unsure of what he needs to ask but having questions nonetheless.

You look at him, at the shirts, at him, at the shirts, him, the shirts, him.

“Oh hey.” You smile at him, lips twitching a little. “Looks like you found your shirt?”

In the morning Bucky is still confused.

You're trying to drown yourself in your cereal.

Steve thinks it’s hilarious.

“Guess you found your gremlin,” Steve teases Bucky and takes another big bite of his breakfast.

That at least makes you lift your head. “I’m a _what_?”

“I didn’t know it was you,” Bucky says. When you give him the stink-eye he insists, “Really! At least, not at first. And then I wanted to figure out…I still want to know… _why_?”

You shift like you’re going to literally crawl away in shame but Bucky puts his hand on the back of your chair, blocking your side escape with his arm. “I’m not making fun; I just want to know.”

You shrug half-heartedly and look elsewhere. “It’s…nice to have when you guys are gone. It feels like having part of you still with me.”

Bucky considers that and thinks of all the times, even recently, that he’s come up behind you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, and how you do the same. How you lift Steve’s arm and rest it over you as you press your face against him; how you’ll steal Bucky’s blanket and wrap yourself up in it. In retrospect, the ‘why’ is quite obvious.

You fidget your fingers in the silence. “That didn’t sound as dumb in my head, I swear.”

“I don’t think it sounds dumb,” Steve says and puts his hand on yours.

You look at Bucky as he thinks on it. “Okay,” he says eventually. “But…why do they have to be all my _favorite_ shirts?”

There’s that ‘you’re lucky you’re cute’ look again. “They need to be the shirts you wear the most.” ‘Obviously’ is unspoken but so present he almost physically feels it.

Bucky rolls his eyes, because, unlike Steve, it’s not like he only wears the same five shirts and has enough of a stock that he doesn’t _notice_ when one goes missing. “We’ll have to work something out then. In the meantime– ask when you want one.”

“Okay.” You scoot over to hug Bucky. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay sweetheart.” Bucky kisses your head. “And for what it’s worth, you’re the best-looking gremlin I’ve ever seen.”

You pinch him and, because Bucky loves you, he pretends to feel it.

After breakfast you’re all in the bedroom. You and Steve are relaxing in the reading chairs while Bucky unpacks his bag, because _he’s_ not a slob ( _Steve_ ), and once everything is put away or tossed into the laundry basket, Bucky stands in front of his closet and feels a sense of peace.

Well, almost.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Where’s that one red shirt?”

“Hm?” You lift your head from your book and blink.

“The dark red shirt, with the long sleeves.”

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

He says your name in warning.

“Honest!” You shut the book and frown deeply. “Trust me, I wanted that one _the most_ because you wore it all the time but it just van–…ished…”

Both you and Bucky turn your heads to look at Steve. He holds out for all of five seconds before he sighs and puts down his own book, goes over to his bag, and fishes around until he brings out rumpled red fabric.

“What the hell?” Bucky blurts out. “I was _with_ you!”

“Yeah! What the hell?!” you pipe in with outrage that overshadows Bucky’s and makes him snap his head back to you.

“You got his other shirts,” Steve says defensively.

“You got _him_! I _should_ get the best shirt to curl up with!”

“It’s _my_ goddamn shirt!” Bucky interjects. You and Steve look at him and then share a look where you both, apparently, instantly resolve all your differences. You get up casually (“casually” his shiny metal bicep) and you and Steve both sidle on over like absolutely nothing is the matter.

“Come on Bucky,” Steve says, getting behind him and sliding his hands, one of which is still holding the shirt, over Bucky’s shoulders. “Do you really need one shirt?”

“Yeah,” you say, coming around on his other side and pressing close. “It’s just one shirt. Maybe we can all share it?”

“Well…” Bucky sighs and leans back into Steve.

And snatches his shirt and slips out to the sound of both of you protesting and whining.

He’s going to order a padlock for his dresser. And do his own goddamn laundry from now on.

Fucking gremlins.


End file.
